


Each Breath We Take Suffers the Same

by LayALioness



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, lesbian sex!, some mild smut?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4346051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LayALioness/pseuds/LayALioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Any cute Grounders boys you like?” <br/>“No,” Clarke says, and then shyly adds “But there is this girl at Ark…” <br/>“Well what’s she like? Tell me about her.”<br/>“She’s great,” Clarke grins. “You’d like her. She’s going to be an astronaut.”</p><p>Clarke meets Raven at boarding school, and things get a little intense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Each Breath We Take Suffers the Same

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my usual ship, so I'm sorry if it comes off a little strange. I was trying something different.
> 
> title from Same High by Uh Huh Her

Clarke meets Raven Reyes when she walks into her new dorm room, her sophomore year at Ark Girls’ Academy, and tosses a weathered red duffel bag on the bottom bunk. She grins up at Clarke, who’s sitting a little hunched on the top mattress, because the ceiling’s low and the bed is high.

“What up, roomie?” she says, and Clarke tries very hard not to picture her naked. She blames all the hormones—she’s not even sexually active, hasn’t gone farther than a few close-mouthed kisses with her eighth grade boyfriend, but suddenly her fifteen year old mind resembles a porn reel. It’s extremely inconvenient.

“Uh, hi,” Clarke says, and she knows what she looks like; stern and stand-offish, maybe even cold. Apathetic on a good day. Really, she’s just awkward, and a little unsure how to interact with people beyond group work in Chemistry.

Raven seems unconcerned by her apparent indifference, though, and proceeds to chatter on about herself; how this is her first time away from home, and she’s here on a scholarship, and her parents run a car garage in her hometown, and she’s going to be the first Mexican-American on the moon, all with a mixture of sarcasm and actual enthusiasm that Clarke thinks is probably natural. She’s pulling chunks of scrap metal, and old machinery from her duffel all the while, and it’s fucking _unfair_ how awesome she is.

Clarke’s debating how to make this happen without potentially freaking out the girl she has to live with for the year, when Raven says “I mean, it’s gonna suck being away from my boyfriend for so long, but there’s always Thanksgiving, right? Don’t rich people schools celebrate like, a million abstract holidays?”

“Definitely,” Clarke agrees, trying not to seem too disappointed. She’d known there was a chance Raven was straight, after all, and it’s probably not a good idea to date the person she’s bunking with, anyway. “We get four days for Eid al-Fitr.”

Raven grins up at her, and Clarke really, _really_ wishes this girl wasn’t straight. She’s not sure how she’ll make it through the year. “See? Fucking knew it.”

Things don’t get easier. Clarke finds out pretty quickly that Raven likes to take off her pants almost immediately once she’s in their dorm. She pads around in loose, ratty tanks and expensive, lacy underwear and Clarke has to pretend not to notice, and take two showers a day. It’s ridiculous; she shouldn’t be this messed up over a girl.

Except Raven also likes to marathon shows like _Firefly_ and _Falling Skies_ , and force Clarke to watch with her, on her shitty laptop with the faulty speakers, so they have to share headphones. Which means Clarke has to basically sit in Raven’s lap so they can both fit on her single mattress, and Raven somehow always inexplicably smells like cinnamon and rain. And she likes to talk with her hands, explaining quantum mechanics like it’s kindergarten math, or ranting about how no one stops to admire the sheer amount of work that went into the props for _Lord of the Rings_.

She brings Octavia Blake home with her one night, and Clarke is ready to hide away in the girls’ bathroom and mope like the pathetic teenager she is, but Raven just says “Octavia, Clarke—Clarke, Octavia. Great, now let’s skip the boring get-to-know-each-other bit, and get straight to the good part.”

Octavia pulls a fucking huge bottle of marshmallow vodka from her bag with a feral smile, and Clarke can’t even hope she’s at least bi-curious, because she’s too busy thinking how much better the alcohol would taste if she licked it from Raven’s mouth.

They get drunk and play truth-or-dare, which turns into just dare pretty quickly because it turns out none of them are good with feelings or talking about them, and Octavia’s first dare for Clarke is to kiss Raven on the lips. She looks pretty proud of herself, clearly sure Clarke-homebody-Griffin will be too uncomfortable to hack it. For the first time, Clarke feels actually _smug_ as she swigs from the bottle, shoots Octavia a smirk, and grabs Raven by the back of her neck.

Their teeth clack at first, and then Clarke moves her mouth a little, and Raven presses back, so soft Clarke almost can’t tell. But she’s drunk, and pretty dizzy from the booze and _Raven_ , and decides to take a chance—she folds her lips between hers and pries them open, and slips her tongue inside. Raven sighs into her mouth.

She was right; it tastes _much_ better.

They pull apart with a noise so wet it’s fucking obscene, and there’s spit on Raven’s lips that Clarke knows she put there, and she can’t really tell but she’s pretty sure her roommate’s eyes are darker than usual, which. Well, it’s sort of a big moment for her.

“Wow,” Octavia whistles. “That was hot.” She mimes fanning herself and dissolves into giggles, flopping back in a drunken heap.

“Yeah,” Raven says, voice low. She’s staring at Clarke pretty obviously, because Raven doesn’t know the meaning of coy. She doesn’t play hard to get. Clarke’s seen her argue with enough professors, and wrangle books from librarians, and stare down their classmates to know that when Raven Reyes wants something, she fucking goes for it.

Which is why when things go back to normal in the morning, it’s somehow even worse. Clarke just had what was definitely the best kiss of her entire life, and Raven isn’t interested. She knows it’s irrational to feel hurt—it’s not like Raven can just change her sexual orientation, that’s not fair, but. It stings.

Raven still splits their waffles and bacon in the mornings, and she saves a seat for her in all their shared classes, and she sends her music she thinks she’d like, or stupid pictures of giraffes she claims reminded her of Clarke. She still climbs into Clarke’s bunk in the middle of the night, when she’s been up late working on her robots, and her mattress is too filled with bits of machinery and tangled wires that she doesn’t want to move. She still tosses on Clarke’s pajamas when she can’t bother looking for her own, even though the pants are too short on her, and the shirts are too loose around her neck.

She’s still her best friend, and Clarke tries to let that be enough.

Halloween day, Raven finds Clarke with the six other girls of their floor, and she can tell her roommate’s surprised. Besides occasionally Octavia, and usually only when alcohol’s involved, Clarke doesn’t really seek out human interaction outside their dorm room. She just gestures for Raven to sit and moves her bag to make room for her.

“We’re strategizing,” Clarke explains, and Raven cocks an eyebrow. Clarke hates how hot it is.

(In her defense, really everything Raven does is hot. Raven could make shaving her armpits look good. Raven could turn scrubbing a toilet into a weird fetish porno.)

“For what?” she asks, glancing around the table. The other girls are wearing matching looks of fierce intensity, except for Octavia, which is strange since fierce and intense is usually her go-to. Instead, she looks just mildly resigned.

“The War,” Anya says, like it’s obvious. Beside her, Indra grins like a fucking hyena, and even Clarke is looking grimmer than usual. Raven clearly doesn’t know what to do with this.

“Against the boys at Grounders’ Prep,” Octavia explains. “The school down the road? Every year, on Halloween, someone starts a prank war, and it lasts until basically midterms when we all forget about it.” She’s studying her nails—painted a shiny red in some sort of mock blood splatter pattern, because Octavia—trying to seem nonchalant.

“Uh, okay,” Raven says, sharing a quick glance with Clarke. She hopes she hasn’t freaked her roommate out—Raven hasn’t really seen her in competitions. Or around Bellamy Blake. “So, what are you guys thinking, cause I’m thinking explosives.”

“Okay but nothing from _The Parent Trap_ ,” Fox warns. “We already used all of those.”

Raven grins, looking almost as vicious as Anya. She gives Clarke a conspiratorial grin that she absolutely cannot handle. “Oh, honey,” she coos. “That’s child play. Get ready for the Big Leagues, because we are going to _destroy_ them.”

“Their leader is Octavia’s brother,” Monroe adds, helpfully, and Raven pauses.

“We’re going to _maim_ them,” she amends. “But, like, in a non-fatal way.” Clarke gives her a fist bump.

They decide to forego the explosives—for now, at least—and instead spring-load tampons in all the boys’ lockers in the middle of the night. Two days later, the girl’s second-floor showers all stop up, and when the plumber unhooks the grates he finds dozens and dozens of condoms lodged in the pipes.

“Because they knew they wouldn’t be able to use them for anything else,” Clarke decides, and it’s probably the first time Raven’s ever heard her joke like that, because she fucking _cackles_.

Things go back and forth like that for a while—coke and mentos in the back of the toilets; Raven’s homemade stink bombs stuffed in pillowcases; sprinklers set up to spray into the girls’ open bedroom windows—but the enemies never actually come face to face until the day before Thanksgiving break.

Clarke glares coldly at Bellamy Blake on the lake shore, refusing to be embarrassed. She’s in her underwear, and soaking wet, but so is he and so are the rest of their teams, shivering and scowling at their backs. It’s the middle of the night, and the schools are pretty much tied right now, as usual. They’ve stopped keeping track, to be honest; it’s just fun to have a nemesis.

Raven is at her side, somehow _not_ shivering, and Clarke can feel the warmth coming off her body, so she inches a little closer. She’s pretty sure Bellamy’s checking her out, which, she can’t really blame him but if Raven hooks up with Bellamy Blake, Clarke might actually cry.

“You’re an asshole,” she says, somewhat abruptly. He snorts.

“Takes one to know one,” he shoots back, and she rolls her eyes. Talk about a comeback from _fifth grade_ , really.

“Guys, I hate to interrupt your weird Alpha stare-down bullshit,” Miller says, not at all apologetic. “But it’s fucking cold as _balls_ out here; could we maybe just call the truce and go inside?”

Bellamy and Clarke give in-sync eye rolls because, _weaklings_. Then they grin, only sort of sarcastically, and shake hands like they’re a pair of team captains telling each other _good game_ , while each secretly wishes they’d murdered the other.

“See you tomorrow, Bell!” Octavia chirps as they head off in separate directions. He waves back at her, and Raven slips her arm into Clarke’s as they walk.

“Okay, but _next time_ , we’re definitely killing them,” she decides, and Clarke grins.

Clarke’s Thanksgiving break goes about the same as it always does; she catches up with Wells, home from his fast-track junior politician school across the country; she spends a lot of time watching the Food Network and wishing she could cook; she spends a lot of time with her dad, just three months from retirement and entirely unsure what to do with himself when it comes; she spends a lot of time dodging her mom, which she feels kind of shitty about, but. Abby is used to not having a lot of spare time, so when she does manage to strike a conversation with someone, the topics are never less than dire or in-depth. She doesn’t have the patience for small talk, or meaningless gossip. All her questions are about Clarke’s future, what college she wants to apply to, when she’d like to apply, what major she’s leaning towards, and if the answer is anything less than premed, how does she plan on supplementing her income?

So Clarke’s pretty surprised when Abby manages to corner her on her third day home and only asks, “Any cute Grounders boys you like?” with a cheeky grin.

The obvious answer is that Jake Griffin has decided to use his spare time to train his wife in the art of human interaction. “Uh,” Clarke hesitates. She _could_ say Bellamy, and she wouldn’t even be lying. She likes boys, at least as much as she likes girls, and she’s not _blind_. And he may be sort of an asshole, but at least he’s interesting, and he never goes easy on her in a fight, which is something she can respect. But.

“No,” Clarke says, and then shyly adds “But there is this girl at Ark…” She trails off, waiting for Abby’s reaction.

It’s not much; a slow blink of surprise, and then “Well what’s she like? Tell me about her.”

“She’s great,” Clarke grins. “You’d like her. She’s going to be an astronaut.”

She spends the whole drive to Ark texting Raven ridiculous road signs and must-see sights—one local attractions sight just said _cheese_ in all capital letters—while she teaches Clarke all the best Spanish swear words.

“Long time no see,” Raven grins when she steps into their dorm, and hugs her tightly.

Clarke breathes her in—still cinnamon and rain, but there’s peppermint now, too—and smiles against her shoulder, and it’s ridiculous how much she’s missed her when it’s only been four days. “How was your break?”

Raven pulls away, and Clarke tries not to frown about it as they start unpacking their bags.

“Oh, you know, same old same old,” Raven says. “Why don’t I just take over the shop when I’m eighteen, who’s gonna look after them, why do I have to go to school so far away.” She laughs, but not like she thinks it’s funny. “I must have the only parents in the world who are disappointed their child wants to be a fucking _astronaut_.”

“You can always open up the first garage in space,” Clarke offers, mostly just to make her laugh.

“Reyes’ Rockets,” Raven agrees. “Has a ring to it.”

The second day of Christmas break, Raven calls Clarke at two in the morning. She answers groggily, wearing the Power Rangers onesie Raven gave her. “’Lo?”

“Clarke,” Raven says, voice strangled. It takes Clarke a moment to realize she’s crying, and then she bolts upright.

“Raven? What is it?” she demands, not bothering to whisper. “What’s wrong?”

Raven sniffs. “Nothing,” she says. “I just—Finn broke up with me. He’s with some other girl, and I guess he didn’t know how to tell me or,” she pauses. “No, fuck that. He fucking cheated on me, and then dumped me, and my parents are on visiting my grandparents in Mexico and I was supposed to spend the break with Finn’s family, but,” she stops herself, and Clarke very much wants to strangle Finn Collins with his own ridiculous hair.

“You’ll spend Christmas here,” she decides, leaving no room for argument. Raven huffs something close to a laugh.

“I don’t mean to pry, Griffin,” she says dryly. “But shouldn’t you ask your parents, first?”

“They’ll be fine with it,” Clarke says, and they will be. Abby might be mildly annoyed she wasn’t consulted first, but she’s barely home as it is, and Jake is always worried Clarke doesn’t have enough friends.

“Thanks,” Raven says softly. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Clarke snaps, because Raven should know her by now; her friendships aren’t conditional. They aren’t business deals. She’s not a junior politician. She’s just her.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Raven decides. “You should be glad I spend my time with you.”

“Right,” Clarke snorts, because she doesn’t know how fucking true that is. “I’ll email you the ticket later. Hang in there.”

She gets up to buy the plane ticket immediately, and then emails the file to Raven as promised. Then she goes back to sleep; her parents may not be happy to find out about an extra guest in the morning, but they’ll be even _less_ happy if she wakes them up at two AM to tell them.

Raven’s flight gets in around dinner time, and Jake goes to pick her up from the airport. Clarke wants to ride with him, with the excuse that she’s the only one who knows what Raven looks like, but her mother needs help setting up and ultimately she’s overruled. She makes a poster board for her dad to hold at the arrivals gate, like the valets. It says REYES’ ROCKETS in bold red letters, with a rocket ship to the side and some little planets and moons. It’s pretty crude, but she did it in like ten minutes, so.

Raven shouts “echo, echo, echo!” into the hall when she walks in the door, and hugs Clarke even tighter than after Thanksgiving. “You didn’t tell me you live in a fucking _castle_ ,” she mutters, lips warm against the skin of Clarke’s neck.

“Why do you think Bellamy calls me _princess_?” she says, trying not to shudder.

“I dunno,” Raven shrugs. She tugs at a blonde curl and smirks. “You do sort of look like a princess.”

Clarke groans and glares at her. “Not you too.”

Raven grins and drops her hair, suddenly resolute. “Thanks for doing this, Griffin,” she says. Clarke rolls her eyes. Raven only calls her Griffin when she’s trying to suppress any emotions that remind her she’s human.

“Shut up,” Clarke says cheerily, tugging Raven up the stairs. “Come see my room.”

Clarke’s never really cared about her room or how it looks to others, pretty much unchanged from when she was six and convinced she was secretly Rapunzel. The walls are baby pink, with white trim and little stenciled stars across the ceiling. Her bed is massive, also pink, and with a sheer canopy draped over it like an actual princess bed. Raven gives her a raised brow, as if reading her thoughts and agreeing with them.

“Shut up,” Clarke says, and flops down on the mattress. Raven drops her bag unceremoniously and sprawls out beside her, so their sides and arms are pressed together. She tells her the whole thing, from when she met Finn as a scrawny, blue-collar kid, to their first kiss at ninth grade Homecoming, to their first time in the town park’s dugout, to when she came home to find him kissing another girl.

“He said he didn’t know how to tell me without me getting hurt,” Raven makes a face. “And that he didn’t want to break up over text, or email.”

“He’s a sack of dicks,” Clarke declares, feeling particularly vicious. “And a coward, and he doesn’t deserve you.”

“ _Sack of dicks_?” Raven snorts, but she’s grinning up at the canopy, so Clarke counts it a victory.

Abby comes to fetch them for dinner, and when Raven heads down, she lingers back, which means she probably wants to talk to Clarke, which. She’d known it would happen, of course, but she was still hoping to put it off a little longer. Clarke hadn’t told her mom the name of the girl she liked, but in between s _he’s great, and really good at science, and half-Mexican_ , she’s pretty sure it’s easy to figure out.

“So that’s the astronaut?” Abby asks, amused and mildly curious. Clarke blushes furiously.

“Yeah,” she admits. “That’s her.” Abby nods and runs a hand through her daughter’s hair.

“Be careful,” she says as they walk down. “And go wash your hands.”

That night, Raven lies next to Clarke in her massive bed, with a few inches between them and somehow still comfortably away from the edge. “It’s just,” Raven huffs, annoyed with herself for _feeling_. It’d be adorable, if it didn’t make Clarke angry all over again. She’s been on the receiving end of casual affection from Raven before—mostly when drunk, or cold, or feeling especially giddy. She deserves someone that’ll teach her it’s okay to be emotional. Clarke tries not to think that someone could be her. “I’m used to being picked first,” Raven admits. “Not to be an asshole, but. Like, I was always picked first on the dodgeball team, or group projects. I was at the top of the list for scholarship students at Ark. I guess I just don’t get how I’ve suddenly ended up placing second.”

“Finn’s a sack of dicks,” Clarke says, and it’s probably the most worked up she’s ever been, but. The girl she’s pretty much in love with is convinced she’s somehow not perfect and fucking amazing, which is simply not okay. “And a fucking _idiot_. You should be first choice. I’d choose you.” She freezes, and Raven can probably feel her sudden tension. That was way more than she’d meant to say.

“Of course you would,” Raven scoffs. “I’m awesome.”

Clarke wonders when she’ll finally stop waiting for her to say she loves her too.

Christmas day, they all mostly lounge around in their pajamas, gorging themselves on butterscotch fudge and watching _Peanuts_ reruns. Raven skypes with her parents, and grandparents, on the desktop, and then Abby and Jake present her with a last-minute stocking, filled with things like glow in the dark planet stickers, and a fact book about space. Raven locks herself in the bathroom so they won’t see her cry, and then she cries in front of them anyway. It’s a start.

Wells comes over the next day, so he and Raven get to meet and stare each other down in some weird Alpha-Best-Friend battle. In the end, they must decide it’s a draw because by the end of the night they’re on either side of Clarke on the sofa, watching Jimmy Stewart give an angel his wings.

Their first night back, Raven dumps all her clothes and random car parts out on her bed, and huffs down at them with a scowl, like she might intimidate the mess into cleaning itself. Her shoulders are sagging, she’s so tired, and so Clarke has a silent war with herself and then opens her blanket in invitation, scooting all the way to the wall.

Raven mutters “Thanks” as she climbs up, and worms her way under the covers, until her back is pressed to Clarke’s chest. They lay like that for a moment, and Clarke is just finally getting her breathing on track, when Raven says, “Fuck this,” rolls over, and kisses her.

It’s not a great kiss. Clarke’s too shocked to really kiss properly, and Raven’s mouth is harsh against hers, like it’s trying to bully her into submission. But when she pulls back, Raven’s eyes are nothing but nerves.

“Is this about Finn?” Clarke asks, voice strangled, because she’d meant it when she’d said she’d choose Raven—she’d choose her in a fucking heartbeat—but she’s not sure she can handle being a rebound for a single night.

Raven pulls her hands out from the covers and lays them on either side of Clarke’s neck, warm and steady. “You’re my first choice,” she says.

Their second kiss is much, _much_ better, but still a little cautious. They’re still learning each other, unsure how to pace. Raven’s gone a lot farther than Clarke, but only ever with Finn, and Clarke hasn’t really done anything at all, but she’s had more time to get used to the female body. She’s been thinking about this moment for an embarrassingly long time.

“What do you want to do?” Raven asks, lips dry and warm against the skin behind Clarke’s ear. She’s left a trail of bruises down her neck that’ll be a bitch to cover up in the morning, but Clarke doesn’t really care.

“Uh,” Clarke pants, “Anything. I don’t really,” she hesitates, and Raven pulls away so she can look down on her. The mattress is so narrow they can really only fit if she’s on top of Clarke, but neither of them mind it.

“Have you ever gotten off before?” she asks, not teasing, just curious. And maybe a little smug, like she’s glad she gets to be the experiment.

“Um, a little,” Clarke says, trying very hard not to feel embarrassed. “With my hands, but just, uh, on the outside? I’ve never actually…” she trails off because Raven’s nodding like she understands.

“You’ve never fingered yourself,” she guesses, and lets a hand drift down Clarke’s chest. She’s still wearing a tank top, and Raven pulls at the hem impatiently. “Off,” she demands, and Clarke tosses it into some dark corner of the room. She probably won’t find it for months. She doesn’t really care. Raven’s hand resumes its path, straight down between her breasts, past her navel, to the band of her underwear. She pulls them down, just enough to sneak her fingers in.

Clarke doesn’t really mean to tense—she _does_ want this, she absolutely wants Raven to continue whatever it is she has planned—but it’s a new feeling, and she’s not used to not knowing what to do. Raven seems to notice, because then she’s kissing her, hot and wet and fucking _filthy_ , murmuring “Let me take care of you,” into her mouth, and Clarke only hums because really, there are no words for that.

It’s uncomfortable at first, like a burn, but then it eases into a heady warmth that has her panting, and tilting her hips up to chase Raven’s hand. They’re still kissing, but slowly now, lazily and sloppy, with spit all over their cheeks and chins and necks. Clarke puts a hand on the back of Raven’s head, twisting her fingers through hair to ground her. Raven groans, deep and guttural against her breast, and then bites it until Clarke whimpers.

“Does it feel good?” Raven asks, almost begs, looking up at Clarke through her lashes.

“You know it does,” Clarke accuses, cupping her through her shorts. Her crotch is warm and wet, and Clarke grins—she’s not the only one affected.

Suddenly Raven’s pulling her hand back, and Clarke whines a little pathetically because _she was so close_ , but Raven only smiles and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. She pulls her shorts and underwear off in one quick motion, and sits up, pulling Clarke with her. She grips her hip bones and settles her on her lap, so their legs are tangled behind each other’s backs.

“Trust me,” she grins, thrusting up to rub against her, and Clarke lets her head fall back because _oh, God._ “This’ll feel even better.”

Raven tosses the blanket off them when they’re finished, and then falls down with Clarke curled up on her like a cat.

“Finn is a fucking _idiot_ ,” Clarke mumbles, and Raven laughs sharply into the night.

The next day it snows, and the girls find frozen piles of dog shit lining their dorm halls, so they have Raven rewire a Roomba to spit out marbles as it rolls, and then sent it down the boys’ hall before setting off the fire alarm. They watch from outside as the bleary-eyed teens rush out of their rooms in boxers and briefs, only to slip and fall on their asses.

That night, Raven pulls Clarke up so that she straddles her mouth, and then licks into her until Clarke can’t feel her limbs. After, Raven asks “So when did you realize I’m spectacular?”

Clarke huffs a laugh, which is basically all she has the energy to do right now. She’d offer to return the favor, but she’d probably fall asleep, face first in Raven’s cunt. “The moment I met you,” she admits. “You were this gorgeous girl, with this crazy smart brain and all these car parts and skimpy underwear. And you never wore pants. What about you?”

Raven traces a finger across the dip in her lips, and Clarke bites it. “Truth or dare,” she grins wickedly. “You’re a fucking _great_ kisser.”

The next night, they have a massive snowball fight with the boys by the lake. One of them, a transfer named Wick, demands to meet the mastermind behind the Roomba, and Raven does a little sarcastic curtsy like the asshole she is.

“Marry me,” Wick demands, sinking to his knees in the snow.

“She’s taken,” Clarke shoots, and then tugs Raven in for a kiss. It’s supposed to be just a peck, because it’s too cold for her to really do anything interesting, but Raven doesn’t get the memo. She licks the roof of Clarke’s mouth and moans down her throat and pulls back, red-nosed and grinning. The boys, and some of the girls, are wolf whistling, so Clarke flicks them off.

Raven snatches her hands and rubs the pink out of them. “We should go in and warm up,” she decides, tugging Clarke towards the building. “I wanna try shower sex tonight.”

Clarke winds their fingers together and grins stupidly, thinking _I’d choose you._

_I’d choose you every time._


End file.
